


A Broken Life

by Am-Chau (Vacillating)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-25
Updated: 2011-08-25
Packaged: 2017-10-23 01:25:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vacillating/pseuds/Am-Chau





	A Broken Life

**A Broken Life  
** By Am-Chau Yarkona[  
amchau@popullus.net](mailto:Yarkona%0d%0aamchau@popullus.net)

Companion story to Raven's [Nothing  
Left To Lose](http://sleepingwithghosts.popullus.net/stargatefic/nothingleft.html).

 

Joseph  
was young—more scholar than soldier at heart, though he was doing his  
best—with green eyes that smiled at books and Jack, and lips as inviting as  
strawberries. He was a Major in a unit training alongside Jack's own team.

"I  
hate the stupid regulations," he raged, and Jack nodded sympathetically,  
secretly remembering that it was only the Air Force's Don't-Ask-Don't-Tell  
policy keeping his marriage intact. If Sara found out… he cringed at the  
thought of having to fight to see Charlie, and let Joseph interpret it as  
boredom with the oft-repeated diatribe against USAF regulations.

Eventually,  
of course, it had to end. Jack didn't care quite enough to try and keep it.

Normally,  
that sort of liaison drifted to an end: either he or his partner would be  
reassigned, or they'd just… not bother anymore. Joseph, though, was an  
idealist, and when he realised they were fading he made a desperate bid to force  
Jack to stay.

Joseph's  
letter to Sara was brief and to the point; it asked her not to tell the Air  
Force anything, but simply to up and leave Jack because he was in love with  
Joseph.

Unknowing,  
Jack went home that night and kissed his fuming wife.

"What's  
up, Sara? You seem annoyed with me."

"What's  
up? You, apparently, with this Joseph." She slammed the letter down onto  
the table and stormed out of the room, probably going to pretend that she had to  
check on Charlie.

He  
read it through in silence, and sighed.

"It's  
not true, Sara," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and carefully  
unloading his gun. "I'll take this letter to the general tomorrow, have him  
take the appropriate action."

Sara  
stared at him. "You do that," she said. "I've been carefully  
ignoring the little signs—staying out too late, sleeping at a hotel now and  
then, mysterious wash-loads when you come home at two in the morning. I thought  
you had another woman, and I thought I'd ignore it for Charlie's sake. But  
this… I can't stay. I'll sleep on the couch tonight, and take Charlie to my  
mother's tomorrow. I never want to see you again."

"Sara…"  
he said, hopelessly. She was right; and she'd changed for bed, her nightdress  
making her more beautiful than ever, just the way he remembered her from their  
first night together.

"Yes?"  
She turned to face him, meeting his eyes for one last time.

"I'll  
take the couch," he said. "Tonight. Forever. Just… don't tell anyone  
else what you know."

It  
was the wrong thing to say: anger flared in her eyes. "No, Jonathan  
O'Neill, I won't. I'm not covering for you any more. Take the couch tonight, and  
tomorrow go and do what you can to save your career while I file for a  
divorce."

* * *

Jack  
had always known that the worse part of military life was the paperwork. It took  
longer than anything else, and he'd been hoping—had prayed repeatedly in that  
long wakeful night on the couch—that a discharge and a divorce would have so  
much paperwork in they took forever.

Unfortunately,  
the paperwork turned out to be distinctly finite.

He  
lost the house, his wife, his job, and—because he'd tried to keep  
Sara—Joseph as well.

He  
phoned home, and got barmy Uncle Stephen. "Your mother's shopping, son.  
Yes, yes, Sara, err… sent a copy of the letter and everything. Why didn’t  
you ring—couldn't face us, eh? Well, never mind, I expect you're still welcome  
here if you want to. Bring the young man along, too, maybe?"

"Joseph  
left me too," he confided.

"Oh,  
shame, shame. No matter. Come along if you like. If not—now's your chance to  
see the world, eh? No responsibilities, eh? Travel, meet some nice people, steal  
a plane…"

Uncle  
Stephen sounded vaguely jealous, and Jack rang off as quickly as politely  
possible. He didn't think he'd be going back home for a while.

He  
spent two days sitting in front of the television. One of the days was Sunday.  
He thought about going to Mass, but didn't know when it was and didn't try to  
find out.

On  
the third day, he packed a small rucksack with a change of clothes, took all the  
money out of his savings account, and bought a plane ticket to Egypt, mainly  
because it was somewhere foreign that sounded warm.

In  
San Diego, he had to change flights, and there was a wait. He bought a packet of  
cigarettes and chain-smoked them just to be doing something. Airports, he  
thought, were funny places: strangers stranded in the same boat, and just  
occasionally they reached out to touch each other—take those two on the other  
side of the room, for example: they weren't old friends, but there was a  
friendship between them, stuck up when she sat down and started crying over an  
Agatha Christie novel.

The  
young man with a silver ankh at his neck was handsome, Jack noticed; he could  
understand why the blonde woman had chosen to sit next to him, even if he looked  
like a hippy with the long hair and jewellery, though Jack was sufficiently  
lonely to almost wish that she'd picked the old chain-smoker he knew himself to  
be instead. He returned his attention quickly to the young man, who reminded him  
of Joseph; not strongly, but enough to give him a little pang, and enough to  
make him feel like a dirty old man.

He  
watched them touch, exchange chocolate, and wondered if he was about to witness  
one of those moments when people fall in love. He hoped not; he might be a  
romantic at heart but he didn't think he wanted to see that.

The  
words ‘Air Force’ floated across the room. She was in the Air Force. That  
made sense; she had a little of the military bearing, a little stiff-backed, and  
now she'd stopped crying, some of the confidence. Jack slouched down a bit  
further, in case he was still carrying himself as a colonel.

A few  
snatches more conversation in the midst of the noisy word-game the children were  
playing. Abydos. Egypt. He made a note of the name Abydos, tucking it away in  
case he needed another destination.

The  
departure board changed; his flight was boarding. He stood, stubbed out his  
cigarette, and followed the young hippie onto the plane.


End file.
